Trigger
by ancientmaverick
Summary: One of the team is threatened, and it's a race against time to save them...but there is more going on than anyone knows.
1. DateTime Unkown

_AN: Hello everyone! This is my first foray into Numb3rs territory, but definitely not my first barbeque. I've been trying to decide which story to post first, and this one came up the winner. I will warn you, it is a work-in-progress, but it's partially finished, and reviews make me write and post faster. It might take awhile, though. You have been warned._

_This is set sometime in early season four, but it can work in any generic timeframe where the team is fit, the brothers are happy, and Liz doesn't exist._

NUMB3RS

It was the number nine bus to Los Angeles, making its daily trip from Albuquerque. There were fifteen people on board – a driver and fourteen passengers, all of them more or less a cross section of the general population of the American Southwest. The driver was male, in his late fifties, with a slight paunch to his stomach, attesting to his many years of physical inactivity. He was a good-natured fellow, though, more than happy to answer the questions of the young couple sitting behind him on the right. They were unmarried, but obviously in love. Passengers Three, Four and Five were three teenage girls, possibly on a visit to UCLA or just out for some fun. Passenger Six was an older man sitting next to Passenger Seven, a male no more than twelve years old. They weren't speaking, probably the result of the argument they'd had back in Albuquerque – despite it being several hours later. Passengers Eight and Nine were a little more interesting – two women who had never met, but opted to sit next to one another following a chance discovery that they were reading books by the same author. Passenger Ten was sleeping, his head resting against the window. Passengers Eleven and Twelve, an older couple, were playing a card game.

It was Passenger Thirteen that held the most interest for Passenger Fourteen, however. Thirteen (the irony of the designation was not lost on Fourteen) was male, 34 years of age, and definitely not a native of the United States. He was trying hard to fit in, though, leafing through a golf magazine and humming quietly along with Bon Jovi on his iPod.

Had Fourteen been anyone else, there would have been no reason to suspect the man of being anything other than what he appeared – just another citizen. Fourteen was not, however, someone else. She had appeared to be sleeping for most of the trip, but in reality had been watching her quarry through half-lidded eyes. Her name was Hawk (at least, that's all she admitted to), and she knew that 'Thirteen' was actually Armand Grayson, known terrorist informant and supplier.

But only for about twenty more minutes.

"All right, folks," announced the bus driver, "we're going to be making our stop in Barstow in about ten minutes. Last chance to stretch your legs before we get into the City of Angels."

Hawk gave a cursory glance at the space around her, fully aware that she had left nothing behind that would indicate she had ever been anywhere near this bus – including fingerprints. It would hardly have mattered either way, but she was a professional, and took a certain amount of pride in her ability to remain under the radar. She ran her fingers through her short black hair and stretched, her joints popping loudly after nine hours in the same position. She shrugged into her black leather jacket, making sure her sidearm remained invisible. She pulled her shoulder bag over her neck and stood, walking up the aisle until she was standing next to Grayson.

"Mind if I sit?"

Grayson pulled an ear bud away from his head as Bon Jovi sang about his life, and looked up. "Um…I guess."

Hawk slid in next to him, smiling widely. "Sweet! Of course, I would have done it anyway, _Grayson_."

Busted. Grayson went very still and found something interesting to look at out the window. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Hawk shrugged. "Really? I could have sworn it was you. But maybe I've got it wrong. Let's see, your name is Armand Grayson. You work for Malech Hassan, who sent you to the United States to gather intel for his next terrorist strike. You were born in France, but moved to Saudi Arabia at the age of twenty, where you met Hassan and embarked on your life of crime. You supplied the explosives for at least seven suicide bombings in Israel, and you're directly responsible for the deaths of twenty-three United States military personnel. Did I miss anything?"

Grayson dropped the act and smiled sardonically. "Closer to thirty, but points for trying. What do you plan to do with this information?"

"I'm not gonna kill you, Grayson." Hawk laughed softly. "But we are getting off this bus in Barstow."

"And if I refuse?"

Hawk opened her jacket, and Grayson's eyes fell on the Glock she was wearing. "That's not an option."

"I can pay you a lot more than whoever put you on my trail."

"That's what I'm counting on." Hawk could see the wheels start spinning as Grayson calculated exactly how much would be required to get him out of his current predicament. She didn't really care what figure he came up with, as long as he cooperated.

The bus pulled into the station at Barstow, and Hawk pulled Grayson to his feet. She kept a firm grip on his arm as she pushed him toward the front of the bus. "Thanks for the ride, Joe, but we've got some business to take care of here."

The driver gave her a wave. "Have a nice day!"

Hawk looped her arm through Grayson's and directed him toward the car park. Control had a car waiting for her, and she situated Grayson in the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel.

"Where are you taking me?"

Hawk didn't bother answering. There was no need to make Grayson more nervous than he already was, so she just gave him a wink and pulled into traffic.

They were a good fifteen minutes down the road before she pulled off to the side and enabled the safety locks. She sat quietly, staring at Grayson as he looked around in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Here's the thing," Hawk said, taking a deep breath. "I may have lied before."

Grayson stared at her, mentally running through their conversation. His eyes widened as he realized what she meant.

"Yeah, see, keeping you alive isn't really an option."

Hawk was prepared for the fist that suddenly shot toward her face, ducking and striking out with her own fist, punching Grayson in the throat. As he gasped for air, Hawk shook her head sadly. "Why do they always make this so difficult?" Grayson tried to pull away from her, scrabbling at the door handle, but this was a Company car, and it came with all kinds of neat tricks. Hawk put her arm around Grayson's neck, increasing the pressure exponentially as he tried to get away. His struggles became feebler and he eventually passed out from lack of oxygen, collapsing against the seat.

Hawk held on for a few more seconds to be sure, and then she released the locks and got out of the car. Hers was the only vehicle in sight, but she worked quickly, pulling Grayson from the passenger side and pushing him down the steep embankment to the ditch. Her eyes tracked him as he fell, and when he came to rest, she pulled the Glock from its holster. "You're lucky, Grayson. My targets are usually awake when I kill them. No matter. You have been convicted by the United States Government of espionage and terrorism, and sentenced to death." She double-tapped him in the chest and then put another bullet in his head. "Case dismissed."

She shook her head in disgust. She was becoming far too poetic these days.

She got back in the car and pulled out her cell phone. Best to call it in before going any farther.

The call connected a few minutes later. _"Brer Rabbit Industries."_

"I'm calling about the Briar Patch."

"_Product number?"_

"Hawk One Three Seven Niner Alpha Two."

"_Copy that. Report."_

"Target neutralized. SOB almost broke my nose."

"_You should be more careful."_

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, the package is about fifteen miles from Barstow."

"_Visible?"_

"Only if you're looking. You want something a little cleaner?"

"_Don't bother. We just received a special request for L.A."_

"Special request? What are the parameters?"

"_Whiskey Tango."_

"Damn. Anyone else in the area?"

"_Pinch just completed a job. Target is still in pursuit. The client requested the best. He wants to talk to you."_

"Even worse." Hawk ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Fuck. I know I'm going to regret this, but go ahead and patch it through."

"_Wilco. Standby."_ The line clicked and popped, and then a new voice, male this time, was heard.

"_Am I speaking with Hawk One Three?"_

"Possibly. What's your verification?"

"_I already gave it to your Director."_

"Not good enough."

"_It's going to have to be."_

"Look, I have no interest in starting a pissing contest. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that this isn't your first barbeque, but it _is_ your first time doing something like this. I'm also gonna conjecture that you're used to getting what you want. I don't give a damn what you do on your own time, but don't waste mine by being a jackass. If you want this job done right, then it's gonna be on my terms. Now, what's your verification?"

"_Zed Five Alpha Six Roma."_ The words were clipped and spoken in an irritated tone, but Hawk needed only the Roma designation to become fully alert.

This was worse than she'd thought.

"What can I do for you?" She refused to be more polite than that, regardless of who she suspected he might be.

"_I have a particularly vexing problem that needs to be taken care of within the next few days."_

"Well, I'm headed in the right direction. What's your pleasure?"

"_Kill him. Slowly. Take pictures."_

"I'm not really in the revenge game."

"_Perhaps you could be persuaded to join."_

"That depends on the method of persuasion."

"_Five hundred, free and clear into a personal account."_

Hawk swore softly. "You've got yourself a pitcher."

"_Good."_

"What exactly do you want?"

"_As I said, I want proof that he is dead, but I'd prefer that there be no body left to bury. I don't care about the method, but I do want it to be painful."_

"Any message you want passed along?"

"_No. I want him to die alone without knowing why."_

"Sure thing. Name of the target?"

"_Special Agent Don Eppes."_

"Okay, back up the train. Full metal jacket? I'm not killing a Fed."

"_He is a traitor to his country and a threat to national security! I can increase your fee if that makes you feel better."_

It didn't, but Hawk bit back a scathing reply. This was, after all, the business she was in. She scanned her surroundings in the growing darkness, thinking through her options. There really was no choice. "All right. Briar Patch will set up an account and forward the details. What's the time frame?"

"_The sooner the better. No more than four days."_

"You'll be informed once the target has been neutralized."

"_Excellent." _He paused, but Hawk kept quiet, sensing he had more to say. _"They tell me you're the best. I do hope they were telling the truth."_

The line disconnected and Hawk waited a full fifteen seconds before speaking.

"You get all that?" Her voice quavered slightly, and she gave herself a mental slap.

"_Yeah. What do you want me to do?"_

"Background and service record on Eppes and his team. Tell Conrad I need a set-up in L.A. with full surveillance kit. I also need a 40, a Heckler with Laps, armor-piercing and standard hollow points and a variety of small arms. I doubt I'll need more than my Glock, but I like to be prepared."

"_No boom-booms?"_

"Blinders, but that's it. This is gonna be up close and personal." Hawk bit her lip, thinking over what else she might need. "Oh yeah, I'll need some transportation."

"_You killed him in the car?!"_

"Don't be stupid! You saw Wolf after Top got through with him. I'm just covering my bases."

"_Fine. The Tumbler will be waiting for you in the LAX lot."_

"Damn. How'd you swing that?"

"_You're going after the leader of the team with the highest success rate in the FBI. Thought you could use a little extra firepower."_

Hawk couldn't argue with that, and after the arrangements were made, signed off and turned the car around so it was headed for LA. Not for the first time, she considered disappearing altogether, but the idea lasted a fraction of a second. She had made the commitment. Still…_this is going to get messy._


	2. Tuesday 10:30 pm

_AN: Ready to get into it? Here we go! (Pay close attention to time - it'll matter in upcoming chapters.)_

NUMB3RS

_Tuesday, 10:30 p.m._

It had been a normal day for Special Agent Don Eppes. Normal, of course, meant catching a high profile case, running down leads, and getting shot at; but, in the end, they had caught the bad guy, which meant Don could go home and relax. He'd already sent his team home, and was now heading for the car park underneath the FBI building in L.A.

They had been on a role lately. Out of six cases in the past month, they had solid evidence for convictions in five. The sixth was more frustrating, but Don sensed a break was coming. The Director had just told him that morning that commendations would be added to the files of all of Don's team members. Don hadn't told them yet, but he really couldn't have been more proud of them, and was planning a celebratory dinner in their honor. He'd called his father during the day to ask for suggestions, and was told that Alan Eppes would take care of everything - which was pretty much what Don had been hoping for, to be honest. He was good at his job, but when it came to planning parties, his skills were somewhat lacking.

For once, everything seemed to be falling into place. Work was going well, he was on a solid foundation with his father, and he and Charlie had been getting along better than ever. True, he didn't have a girlfriend, but he was open to the possibilities. Life was good.

So when he felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressed into the back of his neck after getting into his SUV, he was understandably upset.

"Who the hell are you?" He chanced a glance into the rearview mirror, but whoever was behind him was well hidden in shadows.

They took no pains, however, to disguise their voice. "I'm the one with a gun to your head."

It was a woman. He was being held at gunpoint by a woman. Her voice was flat and emotionless, with only a slight accent, but it was definitely a woman.

He was never gonna live this down.

"Point taken. What do you want?"

"Pull your piece and your back-up. Move slowly." The gun was removed from his neck, which was both good and bad. Good because it told Don that he wasn't going to be killed just yet. Bad because it meant he couldn't try anything if he didn't know where the gun was. Whoever this woman was, she was either lucky or had some experience with this kind of thing.

Don pulled his gun from its holster, and then removed his back-up from his ankle. "What do you want me to do with them?"

"Out the window."

Don dropped the guns as gently as he could, keeping his hands visible. "Look, we can talk about this. You can still walk away."

"Not really, no. Buckle up and then put your hands on the wheel."

The gun hadn't made a reappearance, but Don had no doubt that it was still there. He did as directed. "What do you want?"

"There will be plenty of time for questions later, Special Agent Eppes."

Not good. This definitely wasn't random.

"I'm going to show you some pictures. Sit still, and keep your hands on the wheel." Don tried not to squirm as a gloved hand reached in front of him with a picture. The world came into sharp focus as he recognized his brother's house, his father figuring prominently as he worked in the yard.

The next picture was of Charlie. He was standing in front of a class, gesturing animatedly as he explained impossibly complex formulas. The picture had been taken through a window from a sniper's perspective, crosshairs superimposed over his brother's head.

"You stay away from them!" Don started to turn his head, and was rewarded with the return of the muzzle behind his ear.

"Calm down." More pictures followed. Megan Reeves getting into her car, David Sinclair talking on his cell phone, Colby Granger on his morning jog.

"I know I'm forgetting a few people, including Drs. Fleinhart and Ramanujan, but I just got into town last night. Didn't have time for a full tour of your social life. Just be aware that I can get to them if I need to."

"I get it," Don grated out. "What do you want?"

"An end to war, democratic elections in China, a new flavor at Baskin Robbins. I want a lot of things, Agent Eppes, but the only thing I _need_ right now is already in my possession. Now, you're going to do exactly as I tell you, or baby brother bites it first. I'll save daddy for last. Understand?"

He could only nod, everything he wanted to say likely to get someone he loved killed.

"Good. Now, you're going to make a couple of phone calls. Here's your script for the first one." A paper floated in front of him. "Get out your cell and dial up your brother's house. You will say what is on the paper, and only what is on the paper, or the bomb I put in that cramped garage of your brother's detonates."

Don pulled out his cell phone and tried to concentrate on the paper in front of him as he waited for someone to pick up. "What if it's the answering machine?"

"Doesn't matter. Just read."

"_You've reached the Eppes residence. Leave a message."_

"Dad, Charlie, it's Don. I'm sorry, but I had to do this to protect you. I went a little too far this time. A number divided by zero is always zero, and that's where I ended up. I love you both."

He hung up, fighting back tears of rage. "You bastard!"

"It's entirely possible. My mother has always been a little vague on that subject. You're doing quite well, though. I'll give you a minute to calm down."

That didn't make Don feel much better, but he took advantage of the silence to regain control of his emotions.

A second sheet of paper appeared before him. "When you're ready, make a decision. Reeves, Sinclair or Granger – your choice."

Yet another surprise. Since when did the bad guys (or girls) give you a choice about anything? He hit number four on his speed dial.

"_Reeves."_

"Megan, it's Don. Don't interrupt, just listen, okay? I've been kidnapped and…and will be executed within the next twelve hours. There are no demands to be met, no last minute reprieves. Don't blame yourself. This is my own fault."

"_Don? Don, what's going on?"_

The panic in her voice was plain, and it sent a surge of anger through Don. He couldn't just leave it there. He scrabbled for his seat belt as he tried to lunge into the passenger seat. "Megan, you have to protect my dad and Charlie! She's gonna go after them-" He felt a sharp prick in his neck and cried out, his strength fading fast. "Megan. prom'se me y'loo after 'em."

He collapsed, dropping the phone onto the floor. He could hear Megan calling his name frantically, and the last thing he saw was a pair of eyes staring sadly down at him.

xXxXx

_Tuesday, 10:40 p.m._

"Don! Don, what happened? Where are you?!" Megan stared at her phone as it disconnected, cutting off the struggle she had heard in the last few seconds of Don's call. "No!"

There was no time to waste. She dialed the direct line for the IT guys at the office. "This is Special Agent Megan Reeves declaring a Code Black Emergency regarding Special Agent Don Eppes. Run a trace on his phone immediately." She hung up, and immediately called David. Technically, her next call should have been to the Director, but Don's plea rang loudly in her head.

"_Sinclair."_

"David, someone's taken Don, and they've threatened Alan and Charlie. I need you to get to the Eppes' home _now_ and secure it. I'll pull some agents from the night rotation, but get moving! Keep me posted."

Megan felt bad about hanging up on him, but there was no time to waste. She was running to her car as she called Colby.

"_Yeah, Granger."_

"Colby, get to the office. Don's been taken, Code Black, and we've got a deadline."

She was immensely grateful that Colby didn't ask questions, just uttered a short expletive and then told her he'd meet her there.

Just one more call to make.

"Director, this is Megan Reeves. We have a Code Black Emergency concerning Agent Eppes. He's been abducted."

xXxXx

_Tuesday, 11:20 p.m._

David Sinclair had always prided himself on being a rational, careful man who always thought before he took any action. As he drove toward the Eppes home, though, the only thing running through his head was a string of expletives. Based on Megan's brief but panicked call, there were a dozen scenarios playing themselves out in his mind, none of them guaranteeing a happy ending.

He dialed the phone again, dividing his attention between driving at an incredibly high speed and trying again to reach the Eppes family. Once again, the answering machine picked up, and David closed his phone forcefully. He took a deep breath, and then dialed Megan.

"_David, give me some good news."_

"I'm ten minutes out, but they're still not answering."

"_I rolled two more units, they should be there about fifteen minutes after you."_

"Any news on Don?" He heard Colby's voice in the background shouting.

"_The trace puts his cell phone in the parking garage. We're still working on the SUV. We're going down now, call me when you get to Charlie's."_

For the second time that night, Megan had hung up on David, but he didn't mind. The news about the trace had lodged a knot of worry in the pit of his stomach. If the cell phone was in the garage, then Don had never made it home, had probably been taken from FBI Headquarters – one of the most secure buildings in Los Angeles.

He pulled into the driveway of the Craftsman home owned by Don's brother a few minutes later and killed the engine. There was nothing to indicate that anyone was home, no lights in the windows and no sounds from the garage. David drew his weapon and checked the exterior before trying the front door. It was locked, which eased David's fears a bit. He pulled his keys from his pocket, selected the correct one (a remnant of the Russian mafia case), and unlocked the door. There was no sign of forced entry, but David took no chances, shining his flashlight into the corners and checking windows and the back door.

There was no one home.

xXxXx

_Tuesday, 11:40 p.m._

Megan wasn't having much luck on her end, either.

They had located the phone next to Don's usual parking space, his service weapon and back-up next to it. His SUV was gone, but in its place was a pile of photographs, each depicting a member of the team or Don's family. It was a clear message.

"That has to be how they got him. He wouldn't go along with them unless he thought his family was in danger."

Megan smiled sadly. "Give yourself some credit, Granger. He's trying to protect all of us."

"What's going on, Megan? We haven't had a specific threat made against any of us in months."

"None of this makes sense."

"Agent Reeves?" Megan turned to see one of the security technicians waving her over. He had a surveillance camera in his hands.

"What did you find out?"

"When we went to check the surveillance video, we discovered that there was no footage for this camera from approximately 1830 hours on There's no problem with the camera itself, so I'm thinking the camera's signal was blocked by something. That kind of tech would be expensive and very hard to get."

"Okay, thanks Cooper." Megan ran a hand through her hair in frustration as she walked back to Colby. "We're getting nowhere. How does someone get in here, steal one of our guys, and get out without being seen?"

Colby's answer was cut off by the ringing of Megan's cell phone.

"Reeves."

"_Alan and Charlie just pulled in. What do you want me to tell them?"_

Megan sighed. "Tell them Don's missing, and then bring them here. Maybe Charlie can work some of his magic to help us figure out what the hell is going on."

_Tuesday, 11:50 p.m._

Alan wasn't expecting three FBI agents to be waiting in his living room when he got home. It was enough to set him on edge, and he held back a little as Charlie moved further into the house.

"David? What's going on?" Charlie's tone had a forced cheer to it. His expression, though, was one of suspicion.

"Alan. Charlie." David hesitated, and Alan felt a jolt of fear stab into his heart. He sank into the nearest chair, his voice faint as he asked the dreaded question.

"What's happened to Donnie?"

David sat across from him. "We're not sure."

"What do you mean, 'not sure'? Tell us what's going on!" Charlie tucked his arms around his middle in an effort to keep control.

"Megan got a call about an hour ago from Don. He told her that he'd been kidnapped, and that whoever had him also threatened you two. We're doing everything we can to find him, but we need to get both of you to a more secure location. Charlie, we're hoping you can help us, so for now, we want to get you into the office."

Alan closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. There was no time for a breakdown, so he pulled himself to his feet, and headed for the door. Charlie started to follow, but then paused.

"Charlie, we need to get moving." David seemed very anxious to go, which Alan supposed was understandable, but his fatherly instincts were kicking in, and he sensed there was more David knew that he wasn't telling.

"What else is going on?"

David froze, looking trapped. He looked from Charlie to Alan before heaving a sigh. "Don told Megan that his kidnappers were planning to execute him in twelve hours."

Alan felt his control waver, but stiffened his resolve. "Then we're running out of time. Charlie, let's go." Charlie had been staring at the hall table, and Alan wasn't sure his youngest had heard anything of the previous exchange. "Charlie!"

"There's a message."

Alan looked at the table again and saw what Charlie had been staring at. The light on the answering machine was blinking.

Charlie took a deep breath and then pushed the 'Play' button. After a long moment, Don's voice came through the speaker.

"_Dad, Charlie, it's Don. I'm sorry, but I had to do this to protect you. I went a little too far this time. A number divided by zero is always zero, and that's where I ended up. I love you both."_

NUMB3RS

_AN: Constructive criticism and ideas are always welcome. Reviews make me post faster. _


	3. Wednesday Morning

_AN: I'm quite tardy in posting, I know, but I brought you an extra-long chappie. I'm in the process of moving, so it might be a bit before the next chapter is up. But, you've all been wonderful in your reviews, so we'll see how it goes._

_Once again, pay attention to time._

NUMB3RS

_Wednesday, 12:30 a.m._

It was not a pleasant sensation that greeted Don as he came around. His mouth held a sour taste, and the smell that assaulted him wasn't doing much to help matters. He couldn't see anything, but that probably had more to do with the cloth he could feel wrapped around his head than a lack of lights. He was sitting upright on a metal chair – he could feel the cold seeping through his jeans – with his hands tied behind him and his legs tied together. Other than that, he hadn't a clue as to his situation.

A soft sound off to his left told him he wasn't alone. He tilted his head in that direction and tried to clear the cottony feeling in his head. "So now what?" he rasped out finally.

"Well, things are a bit fluid at the moment." The voice from before was back, but it held much more personality now. Don would even go so far as to call it beautiful if he were feeling a bit more generous – which he wasn't. Still, if the goal was to get out of here, then he should probably try to cater to his captor's sensibilities – heavy on the playful, and light on the dark and mysterious.

"My brother once made me watch a TV show that had a really great comeback when the bad guy said something similar. Pretend I remember it and just insulted you."

The woman seemed to find that rather funny, because she laughed, which Don took to be validation of his theory. "I think I know the show, and I'll accept the remark as it was intended. I must say, you're taking this much better than most people."

"You do this a lot?"

"Not really. Most people I'm hired to kill are dead by now."

Don swallowed nervously and took a moment to digest that information. "Not that I'm opposed to staying alive, but what _are_ you going to do to me?"

His blindfold was suddenly removed, and he blinked at the harsh light shining into his eyes. He heard a few soft _clicks_ and then the lights were turned off. As Don's eyes adjusted, he saw he was in a small room with no windows. There was nothing to distinguish it – they could be anywhere as far as Don was concerned.

The most interesting feature of the room, however, was the woman seated at the desk directly in front of him. The glow of the laptop in front of her framed her face, giving it an eerie quality. She was tall, easily topping 6 feet, and she was well-built without being manly. She had black hair and her skin was pale. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a green fatigue jacket and black leather gloves.

When she looked up and saw him studying her, she smiled brightly, revealing a perfect row of white teeth. "At last we meet! You have no idea what an honor this is."

"Right. I'd love to shake your hand, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment." The woman laughed at that, a response that Don was beginning to expect. Nothing about this situation made sense. "Who are you?"

"You asked me that before. The answer hasn't changed much with our location." She pulled back her jacket to reveal a Glock in a shoulder holster. "But since we're going to be spending some time together and I don't answer to 'Hey' or 'You', call me Hawk."

Don contemplated that and then shrugged as well as he could with his hands tied. "Okay, Hawk. Nice to meet you. Why am I here?"

'Hawk' smiled. "Establishing a rapport? Trust me, I know the FBI manual forwards and back. You'll need more than standard negotiating tactics – but then, your file shows above average intelligence for a Fed, so you probably know that by now. As for why you are here…well, that's going to have to wait." She flipped the laptop so the screen faced him. He was graced with a picture of himself from a few moments before, squinting into the lights and looking rather the worse for wear. "Your Agent Reeves should be getting these about now. I'll be sending updates every hour."

"They'll track you down."

"Eventually. But even your darling brother with all his mathematics won't get here for at least another three hours. Plenty of time for us to have a little chat."

"What do you want?"

"Again, you've asked me that before. I told you, I have everything I need right here. Whether that changes is all up to you."

Confusion tinged his next question. "What are you talking about?"

"You've put me in a rather delicate situation." Hawk moved around the desk and sat on the edge, only a few feet from Don. "As I see it, you have two options. Option one, we stick to the original plan you outlined to Agent Reeves. I kill you in, oh, about ten hours now. You suffer, your family suffers, and I get paid. Hardly fun for you, and I feel bad about killing a good man. Option number two is a little more complicated, and will require quite a bit of cooperation. You and your family still suffer, I still get paid, but we all feel better about ourselves. The choice is yours."

Don followed her with his eyes as she disappeared out the only door. He was left staring at his picture on the laptop, trying to puzzle out exactly what was going on.

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 12:50 a.m._

It wasn't exactly rare to see Team Eppes working late in the office, but the anomalous element on this particular early morning was evident to all who were gathered. Don Eppes was well-liked in the Los Angeles office, and more than one person was feeling the strain without him there to direct the flow of ideas.

Megan Reeves was doing an adequate job of filling in, though.

"Okay, everyone, by now you all know the score and the deadline we're up against. You should all have a preliminary report on the tasks you've been assigned. Cooper, you first."

The techie stood. "We managed to trace Agent Eppes' SUV to a parking garage downtown. Local P.D. did an initial sweep and didn't find anything, but it's being brought here for further analysis."

"Any surveillance footage?"

"No, whoever did this used the same tactic to block the signal here. We're pursuing angles on all devices that could have been used."

"What about the message on the Eppes' answering machine?"

"It's like the one you received – probably scripted. More information, though, suggesting Don did something to get himself in this mess."

Colby chimed in. "The last part is weird, all about numbers divided by zero."

"People think it's a mathematical truth," Charlie broke in. "Divide any number by zero, and the answer will always be zero. It's not true, but…" He turned hopeful eyes to Megan. "Don said that's where he ended up. It could be a code, a way to find him."

"It could also be a message to us, Charlie." Colby frowned apologetically. "Another way of viewing zero is that it's nothing, which could be this guy's way of telling us there's nothing we can do."

"We'll keep looking into it," Megan interrupted. "Okay, Granger, anything in Don's file?"

"Standard letters threatening various things. Nothing in the last two months that would indicate it has something to do with our recent cases, but I've been going over everything just in case something pops up. I gave the letters to Charlie for a threat analysis. None of them were from a woman, though."

"Do we have anything in that direction?"

David took over, shrugging. "We wouldn't even know it was a woman if Don hadn't told you. He didn't say anything that could give us a clue?"

"No, he just said that 'she' was going after Charlie and Alan. We can't rule out the possibility that we're dealing with more than one person, either. I received this e-mail," she pointed at the plasma, "twenty minutes ago."

Colby read it again. "Not much to go on. 'Eppes has ten hours left. The attached photo will be updated every hour.' No demands, nothing to indicate what this is all about."

"Charlie? Do you have anything to work with?" Megan turned to the mathematician. He looked tired and worried, and she was sorry that she was putting him through all of this, but she knew that he was their best chance of finding Don before the deadline – and suddenly, that term had a whole new meaning, and she didn't think she'd be using it anytime soon.

"I'm running two separate equations. The first is the threat analysis that Colby asked me to do, but it's going to take time. The second will hopefully help us narrow down the search. We're assuming that Don's being kept in L.A. somewhere, so I'm building an equation to pinpoint the area with the greatest statistical probability. The problem is, I don't have enough data right now to complete the equation."

"Can you backtrace the e-mail?"

Charlie leaned against the corner of a desk. "We're trying, but whoever sent it is using high-level encryptions and routing through half a dozen countries. It'll take a couple of hours."

"Okay, that's good work, Charlie." Megan surveyed the room. "We have less than ten hours to find Don before this bitch does something she'll regret. We're on a strict time budget, and that can lead to sloppy work. Be quick, but be thorough. We don't want to miss something because we were in a hurry." She studied the photo of Don on the plasma, her back to the room. "Get to work."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 2:30 a.m._

Don had thought he'd get used to the flashes by now, but he still jumped a little when Hawk took the picture. As always, it was uploaded to the laptop so Don could see. Hawk set up a little slide show so he could see his deterioration. He had a new cut above his left eyebrow that was trickling blood. It joined the split lip from the previous hour, both contributing to his rather haggard appearance.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

Hawk glanced up from the e-mail she was sending. "What, the pictures? Every hour on the half until you're dead. Eight hours to go."

Don grimaced and pulled on the ropes restraining his hands. "Think you could remove these?"

"In a minute."

He raised his eyebrows, wincing when he pulled on the cut. "Really?"

"Baby brother should have enough data now to find this place. We have to move."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 3:15 a.m._

Colby crouched next to the door, nodding to David who turned the handle and pushed in. Colby lunged forward, his gun up and scanning the room for targets. It took less than ten seconds to determine that there was no one there.

"Clear!" Colby lowered his gun and turned a slow circle, taking in the details now he was sure they were alone. "Charlie was sure about this place?"

David holstered his weapon in frustration. "Within 86 percent probability."

The room was small, holding nothing but a table and chair. Colby stepped back – he recognized the set-up of the furniture. He approached the chair and knelt down to examine the floor. What he saw didn't make him feel any better. "He was here." David came over, and Colby gestured toward the table. "He was in the chair. Our perp was at the table – the angle is right for the photos we got."

"How do you know he was in the chair?"

"It's anchored to the floor." Colby sighed. "And there's blood underneath."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 5:58 a.m._

Don winced as the needle bit into his arm. "I don't know!" He growled in frustration. He was no closer to getting out of this than he had been seven hours ago. "This doesn't make any sense."

Hawk glared at him. "Think harder, damn it!"

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 7:35 a.m._

"Um, Agent Reeves?"

Megan looked up at the computer expert. "What is it, Cooper?"

"There's another e-mail."

"Anything new?"

"Very. You'll want to see this."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before nodding. "All right, get Colby and David in the war room."

"Not Charlie?"

"If the game has changed, I don't want Charlie or Alan seeing something upsetting." She paused. "More upsetting."

She was glad she had held off when she saw the e-mail on the plasma. When David and Colby joined her, she pointed at the screen. "This is a problem."

David read out loud. "'I've changed my mind. You have one hour to gather 541,785 and have Dr. Charles Eppes deliver it to the internet café on the corner of Vine and Park. He will receive further instructions upon his arrival.' What is that supposed to mean?"

Colby looked confused. "It's what we've been waiting for, isn't it? We expected them to ask for something."

Megan shook her head. "We expected it within three hours of Don's call. Not three hours before he said he'd be killed. He told me that there would be no last-minute reprieves or demands. Something has changed."

"And what's with the amount? It's completely arbitrary," David added.

"Charlie would tell you that nothing is completely random," Colby reminded him. "What are we going to do?" he asked Megan.

"There's something else." She pointed the remote at the screen and the image changed, this time revealing another picture of Don.

Don had steadily been getting worse in the photographs, but he had always been conscious before, head up and eyes defiant. Now, though, he looked defeated, his head resting against his chest and his body slack and listing slightly to one side. His collection of bruises and cuts had been growing, but it hadn't been anything serious enough to cause real concern for his health. As they studied the image closer, though, they could make out the newest injury – a dark patch staining Don's left shoulder and a flash of mottled skin.

"He's either been shot or stabbed. Either way, we're running out of time."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 8:30 a.m._

"I can't believe they actually let him do this. It's completely against regs!" Don couldn't believe his eyes. His brother Charlie had just entered the internet café, toting a duffel bag and glancing around furtively looking for a clue as to the whereabouts of his brother. _He's probably calculating exit vectors and polynomials or something equally nerdy._

Hawk rolled her eyes as she studied the feed from the internet café. "Please. You would have done it."

Don couldn't argue with that. "Still, I'd have more protection on him than Colby and a couple of rent-a-cops."

"Right – like Reeves and Sinclair in the van across the street, the two agents in the corner of the café, and the four squad cars patrolling the street at irregular intervals." Hawk pointed them out on the small screen. "Besides, baby brother isn't in any danger. I promised."

"Whatever. Do the thing."

Hawk rolled her eyes and muttered a few obscenities under her breath, but got to work. She now had two laptops, though Don couldn't begin to explain what she was doing on either of them.

"Okay, we're set. Make the call."

Don hit send on the cell phone in his hand, keeping a wary eye on Hawk and the ever-present gun. He watched on one of the laptops as Charlie fumbled in his jacket for his phone, glanced at the screen, and then looked directly at Colby and raised his eyebrows. Don bit back a groan at the action and promised his brother a slap upside the head if – when – he got out of this.

The ringing stopped as Charlie followed Colby's directive and answered the phone. _"Charles Eppes speaking."_

"Charlie." Don heard the catch in his brother's voice.

"_Don. Is that you?"_

"Yeah, it is. Charlie, I don't have a lot of time. Do you have the money?"

"_Yes. Are you okay?"_

Don saw Hawk smile triumphantly at whatever she was doing on the other computer and knew he had to hurry things up. "I'm fine, Charlie. The money is to be placed in locker 342 at the main bus station. Someone will pick it up at 10:00. Once it's been secured, you'll get another call."

"_Where are you?"_

"I can't tell you right now. You'll get a call at 10:30."

"_Don, what is going on? I saw the pictures, you're not okay."_

Don steeled himself against the panic in his brother's voice. This was the way things had to be. He saw Hawk close her laptop and nod. Don was tempted for a moment to stick his tongue out at her, but bit down on his frustration. This would all be over soon enough. For now, though, he had to hang up on his brother. "Charlie, whatever happens to me, promise me you won't get lost in the numbers."

"_What? No, that makes it sound like you're dying."_

"10:30, Charlie. Now promise me."

There was a pause, and Don watched as his brother tried to maintain his façade of calm. _"I promise_._"_

Hanging up was the hardest thing Don had had to do in a long time.

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 10:28 a.m._

The e-mails had stopped.

Megan supposed the phone call Charlie had received at 8:30 counted as that hour's update, but 9:30 had come and gone without a word, and Megan was trying to keep from suspecting the worst.

There had been a fierce debate about sending Charlie into that café. Colby and Charlie had wanted to risk it; Alan and David had thought it too dangerous. Megan had listened to both sides, taking everything into consideration. Something about this was still bothering her, more than the obvious. As a profiler, she should have been able to narrow down the type of person they were looking for. The problem was, whoever had Don wasn't conforming to any patterns – or rather, no _single_ pattern. Just when Megan thought she had a complete profile, the game had changed. At first, it was an escalation in violence, then a change in the tone of the e-mails from playful to no-nonsense. Then this whole money thing had come into play.

Charlie hadn't gotten anywhere with the threat analysis. None of the letters had showed a tendency toward this type of behavior, and no one on the list of enemies made it into a high enough percentile for Charlie to flag them. They were still checking them out, but that took time, and time had now run out.

Their last hope had been pinned on the bus station. The money was safely ensconced in its assigned locker, which was being watched diligently by a uniform and two agents. Even that hope, though, was dying, because the time had long passed when their target was supposed to arrive.

The clock on the dash clicked to 10:30, and Megan's stomach churned. She picked up the radio. "This is Reeves. Anyone have a visual?"

As the chorus of negatives washed over her, the churning worsened. She was about to call the office when her cell rang. Exchanging a glance with David, she answered.

"Reeves."

"_Lovely to finally hear your voice, Agent Reeves. I feel like we've really had a chance to get to know one another over the past few hours."_

David nodded to let her know the trace was running. Megan had been waiting for this moment for hours, but now it had arrived, she felt only fear – fear for Don, fear for the future, fear for what this would mean to those around her. The voice was that of a woman, evenly pitched and suffused with a sarcasm that Megan tied to the second profile she'd done.

"Where is Special Agent Eppes?"

"_No idea. I'm sure you've guessed by now, Agent Reeves, that I won't be picking up the money. In fact, this will be the last time you hear from me. It really has been a pleasure."_

That was the third profile – cold and calculating. "You kidnapped and held a federal agent for twelve hours and threatened his life and his family."

"_Don't forget the team, Megan darling,"_ the woman interrupted, this time playful.

"Who are you? Where is Don Eppes?"

"_Now, now. That would be telling. Besides, you're tracing this call. You'll find out what's happened to Donnie soon enough. Oh, just in case baby brother's listening, Donnie wanted me to remind you about the numbers, and to tell you that Colby will be looking out for you now. And, let's see, there was something else. Hmm…right, that was it. He'll be sure to tell Margaret that you both love her and miss her very much."_

The call ended, and there was a stunned silence for a moment. It didn't last long, though. Megan flipped on the sirens and pulled into traffic. David gave her the coordinates of the trace and then gave her the phone.

"Colby, get to the coordinates with S.W.A.T. and two teams. We'll meet you there."

"_Megan, Cooper wanted me to tell you that they found something in the computers."_

"What is it?"

"_He tried to explain it, but you know me and computers. All I got was that someone logged into the system with Don's identification code two hours ago. They didn't pick it up until now because they were monitoring everything at the café."_

And suddenly some of the madness of the past few hours made a little more sense. "Diversion?"

"_Probably. They don't know what was accessed yet, but they tell me they're working on it."_ A pause. _"This isn't going to end well, Megan."_

Megan shut the phone without answering. No, this would not end well at all.

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 10:45 a.m._

There was blood everywhere. Colby had seen a lot in Afghanistan, but as he surveyed the scene, the pictures of Don had set up a slide show in his head, threatening to overpower his senses. The pool of blood on the floor, the splatter against the wall, left a metallic scent in the air, clashing with the scent of fear and desperation. Whatever had happened here had not been pleasant.

The blood was so overwhelming, he almost missed the small note laid on the chair in the center of the room. It was smudged, but still legible.

A NUMBER DIVIDED BY ZERO IS ALWAYS ZERO.

Colby didn't need a math genius to figure out what it meant.

Don was gone.

NUMB3RS

_AN: I'm not a nice person, am I? Ideas, thoughts, criticism would all be wonderful, so click the pretty button below_


	4. Life's Not Fair

_AN: It's short, I know. And angst-ridden, which I'm horrible at writing. But I can't ignore Alan and Charlie any longer. And for the math-people out there, would you believe that Charlie just had a mental lapse? Please?_

NUMB3RS

_Wednesday, 7:30 p.m._

"This is where you'll be staying until we're sure you're no longer in danger."

Alan Eppes barely glanced at his surroundings before sinking into the plush chair by the window. He stared out on the city far below, and the people rushing about in the sunshine. It seemed incongruous to Alan…dark and gloomy would have fit so much better.

_Maybe we should have lived in Boston_, Alan thought. _The weather would have prepared me more_.

It was a foolish notion, of course, but for the past few hours, rational thought had been thrown out the window.

"Alan, Charlie, I need you to promise that you won't open the door for anyone – let the agents handle it. Understand?"

Alan nodded absently. He watched his younger son pacing by the door leading to the bedroom and knew he should be comforting the only family he had left in the world, but his heart was breaking, and it wouldn't be fair to put that on Charlie's shoulders.

"Alan."

The force behind that single word made him look up into the eyes of David Sinclair. The man had been a great boon for Alan in the past few years, since the incident with the Russian mafia.

"Alan, don't give up. We don't know anything for sure."

The calm assurance of David's voice buoyed Alan slightly, but he didn't trust himself to speak. He pasted on a ghostly smile and went back to watching the people below. He was vaguely aware of an argument taking place between Charlie and Colby in the corner, and then of the door closing behind David and Colby. Charlie had settled himself in front of his laptop, and suddenly, all was silent.

_Every father's worst fear_.

The words echoed in Alan's head, and he almost laughed at the idiotic statement. This was not every father's fear. This was unique to Alan alone. Alan, who had fought against his son's choice of career. Alan, who had watched his son come out of situations similar to this barely alive. Alan, who had already lost someone he treasured.

_Not fair_.

Alan smiled faintly as he recalled a three-year-old Donnie complaining about God-knew-what. _Life's not fair_, Alan had replied, and as unsatisfactory an answer it might have been, it was the only one he had to give. Those three words could tell the story of Don's life. The older brother growing up in the shadow of the younger genius, the son who knew his father didn't approve of his job and whose mother had left too soon, the FBI agent who saw every day just how unfair life could really be.

He knew the others were right. Without a body, they couldn't be certain that Donnie was gone. But Alan had seen the cold fury in Colby's eyes, heard the calm despair of David's voice, and understood the quiet anguish of Megan when they had returned from the scene – without his son.

And so he sat, watching happy people do normal things, knowing that the 'normal' he had created after Margaret was gone forever.

xXxXx

"He's not dead, Colby. I refuse to believe that."

Charlie paced back and forth, arms crossed. He had to keep moving. If he stopped, he knew everything would catch up to him and he'd be completely useless for the foreseeable future.

"We're not giving up, Charlie, I just think you need to be realistic about this."

"Realistic? What does that mean? Accept that Don isn't coming back? I can't do that!"

Colby took a deep breath before unclenching his fists. "No, that's not what I mean. But you do need to accept the fact that math isn't going to get him out of this. You said it yourself, you don't have enough data."

"Maybe I didn't try hard enough. The equation could be wrong, I could be missing something! I need to be at the office where I can work."

"Charlie." One word, full of everything Charlie didn't want to hear. "Your equations are never wrong. You've been working on this non-stop, and you need to get some rest. It's what Don would have wanted."

"You talk about him like he's already gone."

"Well, right now, he is, and until he gets back, it's my job to take care of you." Colby grabbed Charlie's shoulders, keeping him from turning away. "And it's your job to take care of your dad."

Charlie's gaze slid involuntarily over to his father sitting by the window. He looked older now than he ever had before, like he'd aged ten years since the previous night. Had it only been last night? Charlie had been working frantically, keenly aware that time was running out, but he'd been confident that he could figure something out to save his older brother.

The problem was, Colby was right. Numbers weren't going to solve anything this time. He'd tracked down the location of the kidnapper twice, but each time, it had been too late. Now, there was nothing left to analyze, no patterns to find.

"Find him, please." He stared intensely at his brother's teammate, trying to trust him with the all-important task. Colby nodded and left, and suddenly Charlie was alone with his father.

His father. He wasn't ready for that.

He grabbed his laptop and sat down, pulling up his equations for the search patterns. Just because he couldn't do anything now didn't mean he couldn't go over what he'd done before. Besides, something had been bothering him from the moment he'd heard his brother's message on the answering machine at the house. _A number divided by zero is always zero_. Technically, it was true, something just accepted but never proved. Never proved because it was also technically impossible. Try dividing ten apples by five, and you get two apples per person. But if no one came to the orchard, you couldn't divide the apples between them.

Charlie wanted to put the cryptic message down to the fact that the kidnapper was just really bad at math, but for some reason, he couldn't. Someone had accessed the FBI mainframe using an incredibly sophisticated cipher to cover his tracks. A program like that, combined with the one that had slowed Charlie in locating where the e-mails had been sent from, meant whoever wrote them had to be pretty good at maths. Or at least know someone who was.

It didn't really matter. As much as Charlie wanted to believe Don was okay, he still felt an overwhelming sense of fear. He knew the statistics, had been trying to ignore them since the nightmare had begun. 2000 people per day were reported missing, most taken by people known to them. Ninety percent of all kidnappers were men, and eighty percent of those abducted were found alive. In Don's case, though, the statistics didn't apply.

Charlie's laptop _ping_ed at him, and he glanced absently at the pop-up in the corner. He didn't have time to check his e-mail, but he froze as soon as he saw the sender. It was the same address that had sent the pictures of Don. He hesitated, knowing he should technically inform the FBI agent staying with them about the e-mail, but this was about his brother – he couldn't wait. He opened the e-mail.

_If you're as smart as Don said you were, then you should have no trouble understanding this. _

_Mahavira._

xXxXx

This really wasn't how Megan had expected to be spending her evening. She'd had every hope that she and the team would be celebrating Don's return and filing the paperwork to put away the dirt bag who'd been so bold as to mess with her boss. Colby would make jokes about Don's inability to find a good woman, David would pretend not to laugh, and Megan would roll her eyes at their juvenile antics. Alan would be fussing over his eldest while Charlie got completely pissed, and Don would be there in the middle, acting like it was no big deal while secretly enjoying the attention.

Instead, she was examining every piece of evidence they'd collected since the previous night, hoping something new would stand out so they could end this nightmare and find Don. She was exhausted, though, and her mind wouldn't stop playing probable scenarios in technicolor for locating the man. Every time the phone rang, she had to wonder if it would be the Coast Guard telling her they'd located a body, or the LAPD detailing a gruesome scene.

She needed a distraction, and her wish was granted when David and Colby returned from getting Alan and Charlie settled.

"Well?"

"They weren't happy, but we finally convinced them to stay put. The agent-in-charge has strict orders to keep them there until the morning." David tried to hold back a yawn, but was unsuccessful, setting off a chain reaction.

"All right, that's it. Go home." Megan held up a hand, forestalling the protests she knew would be coming. "We've all been up for close to thirty-six hours now. We're tired, and right now, there's nothing else we can do."

Colby slumped in his chair. "We can't just stop looking."

Megan nodded. "I know, and we're not going to. The Director has put a fresh team on the case. They're going over everything as we speak. Hopefully, they'll spot something we missed, and once we get some sleep, we'll be ready to track down whatever leads they give us. Cooper's people are going over the e-mails and trying to figure out what was accessed from the database. As I understand it, that's going to take some time."

David frowned. "So we're pretty much useless right now."

"Yes. So go home, try to get some sleep, and be back here in the morning."

"Try to get some sleep. Right."

Megan knew Colby was only voicing what they were all thinking. It was depressing as hell to think that while you were comfortably ensconced in a warm bed, your boss was occupying a shallow grave.

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 12:37 a.m._

Hawk came back a few minutes later carrying a sandwich and a cup of coffee. She ignored Don and sat at the computer. That was fine with Don, because he was still trying to puzzle out what she had told him a few minutes before. This wasn't like any situation Don had been in before, and he got the odd feeling that Hawk wanted him to trust her. Unlikely, but she was talking a lot more than most kidnappers, and it wasn't the usual drivel about how they were never going to get caught, and wasn't she just so brilliant? No, Hawk was intelligent, and playing a longer game. With that realization, Don made his decision.

"Tell me about option number two."


	5. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

_AN: For your reading pleasure, the next installment. Everything in __**bold**__is from chapter three. You all know by now that Don is not dead (you're so smart!), but here is what happened while Megan and the others were looking for him. Hopefully things aren't too confusing. I tried to explain as much as possible, but many things exist in my mind alone, and I myself don't know what's going on a majority of the time._

oNUMB3RSo

_Wednesday, 12:38 a.m._

"**Tell me about option number two."**

Hawk smiled, and leaned on the desk directly in front of Don. "I'm going to tell you a story. You need to promise me that you're not going to interrupt. Got it?"

"I'll do my best."

"Okay." Hawk thought for a moment, and then began. "Two months ago, the organization I work for noticed an increase in chatter by a known terrorist group we've been keeping an eye on. We apprehended one of the members and were able to get some good intel on their plans. That's what brought me out this way." She paused, seeing that Don was squirming a bit. "You said you wouldn't interrupt."

"I said I'd do my best. What's this organization you work for?"

"The United States Government."

"Oh...Are you sure about that?"

"Quite certain, yes. Now, we've been able to monitor some of the accounts this group has been using, and we noticed that lately, they've been getting large contributions from someone in the States. This is obviously a bad thing, but until a few days ago, we had no idea where this money was coming from."

"What does this have to do with me?"

Hawk growled and made an appeal to the ceiling for patience. "Okay, that's like three times now."

"I can't help it if you suck at keeping a story short."

"I should have just killed you," she muttered not quite under her breath. "It has to do with you because the money we received as payment for your execution came from the same fund as the contributions to the terrorists."

Don rocked back a little at that. "That's…quite the coincidence."

"For your sake, I hope not."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't have a name, nor do we know from where this money is coming, or what the ultimate plan is for the terrorists, so your name is the only link we have. We can only assume you've done something to seriously annoy our anonymous donor. A recent case, perhaps?"

Don let out a soft 'oh' as something clicked in his brain. But it wasn't possible. Couldn't be possible. Could it? "A recent case in which I was supposed to arrest the major players in a corruption ring? A recent case in which the prime suspect is a member of the United States Senate?"

Hawk beamed widely. "Logic would dictate an affirmative response."

"Why go after me now? I don't have solid evidence against him."

"How close are you?"

"I have an account number. I was waiting on a warrant to confirm the name of the account holder."

Hawk grinned wickedly, and Don wasn't too proud to admit that he felt a little alarmed by her expression. "Then all we need is the case file. You'd have the account numbers in there, right?"

"It's in the office. You could let me go." Don tried not to sound too hopeful, but he could tell it wasn't working.

Hawk crossed her arms. "If everyone thinks you're alive, then you can say _sayonara_ to our quarry. He wants you gone, and he's taking a huge risk to make sure it's done right."

"What do you mean?"

Hawk gave him a somewhat sympathetic grin. "Come on, a Senator hiring a hit man? Or in this case, woman. That's at least a career ender if anyone found out. Of course, so is terrorism, so whatever they're planning will take place in the next few days – the time limit I had to dispose of you."

"How do you know it wasn't someone else who had access to the account?"

"I lied about my organization."

Don rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."

Hawk stuck her tongue out at him. "Only a little. Our primary client is the Department of Homeland Security, but our deal with them is strictly _pro bono_. They pass on names of suspected terrorists and we take care of the problem free of charge. We do their job so they can claim a win in the War on Terror, and they turn a blind eye to our more lucrative pursuits."

"Such as?"

"Political assassinations."

Don had a fleeting hope that she was joking, but one look at her eyes, and he knew she was deadly serious. "The United States Constitution does not condone political assassination."

Hawk just shrugged. "Maybe not. But it still happens. The verification code confirming your death sentence had a _Roma_ designation. That's only given to Senators, on account of the Roman Senate and all that. As long as they don't know it was us, they don't give a shit who we kill." She could tell this was a lot for the FBI agent to take in, and she took pity on him. "Anyway, we're getting off topic. If you want to take down this Senator, then you need to help me get those files and prove he's a corrupt bastard."

"Why don't you just kill him?" Don asked bitterly.

"He's a client. We try not to kill our clients until they've paid. And if you recall, that was a condition of option number two."

"Fine. Then why keep me alive? You know enough now that you don't need me." Don tried to stop himself from pointing that out, but recent events had made him rather more testy than usual. He could only hope that Hawk was more chivalrous than she projected.

"I'll be honest, that thought has crossed my mind. But I try not to kill honest citizens who are just trying to do their jobs. You're lucky it was me and not Pinch who took this job. He would have killed you in the SUV and dumped your body off a pier." Hawk brushed the hair off her shoulders in an impatient gesture. "Now, are you going to help me or not?"

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 2:30 a.m._

**Don had thought he'd get used to the flashes by now, but he still jumped a little when Hawk took the picture. As always, it was uploaded to the laptop so Don could see. Hawk set up a little slide show so he could see his deterioration. He had a new cut above his left eyebrow that was trickling blood. It joined the split lip from the previous hour, both contributing to his rather haggard appearance. **

"**How long are you going to keep this up?"**

**Hawk glanced up from the e-mail she was sending. "What, the pictures? Every hour on the half until you're dead. Eight hours to go."**

**Don grimaced and pulled on the ropes restraining his hands. "Think you could remove these?"**

"**In a minute."**

**He raised his eyebrows, wincing when he pulled on the cut. "Really?"**

"**Baby brother should have enough data now to find this place. We have to move."**

"Do you really think they're going to believe these pictures?"

Hawk rolled her eyes at what was becoming a very old argument. "It's make-up. They're not going to be able to tell the difference if all they have is a photograph."

Don just sighed and watched the pictures scroll through again. "Are you sure it's progressing fast enough? Normally, there's more than a couple bruises by this time."

"Probably, but I don't have time to keep putting more make-up on you, and you won't let me hit you for real." Hawk pulled out her knife and sliced through the ropes binding Don's hands. "Now help me with this equipment."

Don flexed his hands to get the blood flowing again as he surveyed the room. "The floor is too clean."

Hawk was nearly screaming in frustration. "Seriously, why am I keeping you alive?" She set down the computer she was packing and moved around the table. "Just remember, you asked for this." Before Don could figure out what she meant, she swung her arm up and his nose crunched as her fist slammed into it.

"Goddammit, woman!" Don gave her a glare even as he leaned over the chair so the drops of blood would fall in a realistic position. "That was not necessary!"

"Maybe not," Hawk smirked at him, "but it felt damn good."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 5:58 a.m._

**Don winced as the needle bit into his arm. "I don't know!" He growled in frustration. He was no closer to getting out of this than he had been seven hours ago. "This doesn't make any sense."**

**Hawk glared at him. "Think harder, damn it!"**

Don watched his blood flow through a tube into the bag Hawk had connected it to. "I don't know why Senator Kinsey has taken a sudden interest in helping terrorists. I was investigating him for corruption, not treason!"

Hawk sat back, sighing. "There has to be a reason for it. We need to know motive, not just means if we want the Attorney General to pay any attention."

"Maybe he's a convert."

"What, all Muslims are terrorists?"

"That's not what I said."

"You implied it."

Don wanted to bang his head on a wall. "You're right, I'm very sorry."

"Whatever. You're probably right."

Now Don wanted to bang Hawk's head against the wall. "Are we almost done here?"

Hawk checked the bag. "We're close to a pint. As soon as it's full, we'll toss the place and then get to a more secure location."

"When are you going to let them find this place?"

"Not until the end. I don't have time to find another clichéd hiding place." Hawk tied off the tube and pulled the needle out of Don's arm, putting a band-aid over the puncture wound. "Okay, no heavy lifting for you, so I'll leave you in charge of blood spatter. Make sure you do a good job. We don't need them getting suspicious too early in the game. Then I need you back in the chair for pictures. You're about to die."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 8:30 a.m._

"**I can't believe they actually let him do this. It's completely against regs!" Don couldn't believe his eyes. His brother Charlie had just entered the internet café, toting a duffel bag and glancing around furtively looking for a clue as the whereabouts of his brother. **_**He's probably calculating exit vectors and polynomials or something equally nerdy.**_

**Hawk rolled her eyes as she studied the feed from the internet café. "Please. You would have done it."**

**Don couldn't argue with that. "Still, I'd have more protection on him than Colby and a couple of rent-a-cops."**

"**Right – like Reeves and Sinclair in the van across the street, the two agents in the corner of the café, and the four squad cars patrolling the street at irregular intervals." Hawk pointed them out on the small screen. "Besides, baby brother isn't in any danger. I promised."**

"**Whatever. Do the thing."**

**Hawk muttered a few obscenities under her breath, but got to work. She now had two laptops, though Don couldn't begin to explain what she was doing on either of them.**

"**Okay, we're set. Make the call."**

**Don hit send on the cell phone in his hand, keeping a wary eye on Hawk and the ever-present gun. He watched on one of the laptops as Charlie fumbled in his jacket for his phone, glanced at the screen, and then looked directly at Colby and raised his eyebrows. Don bit back a groan at the action and promised his brother a slap upside the head if – when – he got out of this. **

**The ringing stopped as Charlie followed Colby's directive and answered the phone. **_**"Charles Eppes speaking."**_

"**Charlie." Don heard the catch in his brother's voice. **

"_**Don. Is that you?"**_

"**Yeah, it is. Charlie, I don't have a lot of time. Do you have the money?"**

"_**Yes. Are you okay?"**_

**Don saw Hawk smile triumphantly at whatever she was doing on the other computer and knew he had to hurry things up. "I'm fine, Charlie. The money is to be placed in locker 342 at the main bus station. Someone will pick it up at 10:00. Once it's been secured, I'll be let go."**

"_**Where are you?"**_

"**I can't tell you right now. You'll see me again at 10:30."**

"_**Don, what is going on? I saw the pictures, you're not okay."**_

**Don steeled himself against the panic in his brother's voice. This was the way things had to be. He saw Hawk close her laptop and nod. Don was tempted for a moment to stick his tongue out at her, but bit down on his frustration. This would all be over soon enough. For now, though, he had to hang up on his brother. "Charlie, whatever happens to me, promise me you won't get lost in the numbers."**

"_**What? No, that makes it sound like you're dying."**_

"**10:30, Charlie. Now promise me."**

**There was a pause, and Don watched as his brother tried to maintain his façade of calm. **_**"I promise**_**.**_**"**_

**Hanging up was the hardest thing Don had had to do in a long time.**

Of course, he couldn't let Hawk see that, so he just reverted back to what he knew would annoy her most. "I still can't believe you ruined a perfectly good shirt."

Hawk gave him the finger. "For the last time, it was necessary. Now shut up about your fucking shirt!"

Don tossed his own gesture in her direction. "Did you get what you needed?"

"File accessed and program running. How's baby brother?"

"_Charlie_ is just fine. Worried, but he can handle himself." Don glanced at her curiously. "Why do you call him that?"

"It helps if I don't identify with my targets. If I don't use your brother's name, then I won't feel so bad when I eventually put a bullet in you." Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Satisfied?"

Don raised his own eyebrow. "You're not going to kill me."

Hawk sighed. "I do it because I don't want to feel guilty about putting your family through all of this. Does it surprise you that I have emotions?"

Her answer surprised him enough that it was a few minutes before he felt safe in asking the question he'd been wanting to for the last few hours. "How'd you get into this business, anyway?"

Hawk glanced up at him from the computer. She gave him an appraising stare, and was apparently satisfied with what she saw. That didn't mean she felt the need to answer. "Does it matter?"

"Kind of, yeah." Don started pacing. "How does someone like you just wake up one morning and decide to kill people for a living?"

"Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Don gave her an exasperated look. "Oh come on, you're not exactly the typical assassin, are you?"

Instead of lashing out at him like he expected, Hawk started laughing. "Right, the typical assassin. What do I need, a moustache, an accent and a knife in my boot? Or is it the fact that I'm a woman? Please!"

"Fine, so I don't know what the typical assassin is supposed to look like. But that still doesn't answer my question. How do you get a job like this?"

Hawk stopped typing and faced him. "You really want to know?"

Don started to nod, but he sensed that she wanted more than a quick affirmation and gave her question a bit of thought. The more he knew about this woman, the deeper in he got. Did he really want that? On the other hand, she hadn't killed him, so he owed it to her to show a bit of interest in her life. "Yeah, I do."

Hawk nodded, and then took a deep breath. She bit her lip, and he could see she was collecting her thoughts. Finally, she began her story.

"I was in Somalia in '93. Twenty years old, and everything going to hell around me. I was guarding UNICEF personnel distributing food when one of the warlords attacked. I survived. Most of my squad didn't. Everyone else was slaughtered. I spent a month in the hospital and another six months learning how to walk again. My Army career was over."

Don sank into the nearest chair. "That's…I'm sorry."

"That's life."

"But how…" Don didn't want to seem insensitive, but he still had questions. "How did you end up here?"

"Some idiot thought I deserved a medal for what happened in Somalia. My actions came across the desk of my current boss. He thought I warranted a further look. I didn't start out as an assassin. I was support staff, but one of the targets got a bit squirrelly and killed the shooter I was working with. So I killed him." Hawk let out a sigh, pushing old memories away and turning back to her computer. "So there you are…you've got enough to track me down, now. Just keep in mind that if you do, I'm dead."

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 10:27 a.m._

Hawk glanced at her watch for the fiftieth time in the past ten minutes, glancing involuntarily at the room off to her right as she did so. She didn't really expect Eppes to try an escape, but training and time had taught her to be prepared for anything. She had sent him in to sleep more than an hour ago, knowing that he was exhausted and that they wouldn't have time for rest once the plan had been implemented.

She should probably get some sleep as well, but she knew that it wouldn't be truly restful until the job was done and she was out of California. Months of waiting for a break of this magnitude had done wonders for her patience, but now that everything was falling into place, Hawk was hard pressed to relax. There was just too much to do.

Her watch beeped at her, and she took a moment to compose herself before picking up the phone. She knew the FBI would be on edge after she had missed the 9:30 contact, and what she was about to tell them wasn't going to help matters, but it would give Don and Hawk time to set a few things up.

The phone connected. _**"Reeves."**_

"**Lovely to finally hear your voice, Agent Reeves. I feel like we've really had a chance to get to know one another over the past few hours."**

They were tracing the line, but Hawk had routed everything to the warehouse where Don had artfully set up the scene of his own demise.

"_**Where is Special Agent Eppes?"**_

Hawk glanced again at the room off to the side and grinned a little. **"No idea. I'm sure you've guessed by now, Agent Reeves, that I won't be picking up the money. In fact, this will be the last time you hear from me. It really has been a pleasure."**

"_**You held a federal agent for twelve hours and threatened his life and his family."**_

"**Don't forget the team, Megan darling."** Hawk once again stamped down the guilt that welled up every time she thought about Don's family. It brought too many painful memories of her own family and she definitely wasn't reliving those.

"_**Who are you? Where is Don Eppes?"**_

"**Now, now. That would be telling. Besides, you're tracing this call. You'll find out what's happened to Donnie soon enough. Oh, just in case baby brother's listening, Donnie wanted me to remind you about the numbers, and to tell you that Colby will be looking out for you now. And, let's see, there was something else. Hmm…right, that was it. He'll be sure to tell Margaret that you both love her and miss her very much."**

Hawk hung up and turned to the video feed from the bus station. She could see the panic on Reeves' and Sinclair's faces and watched as they quickly chased down another false lead.

She was a sadistic bastard, yes, but it didn't bother her as much as she thought it maybe should. She had an important job, and she liked what she did. She could choose her own clients and leave whenever she wanted. She often wondered just when the tactics of her fellow assassins would convince her that she'd had enough of this life – or when their tactics would eventually become her own.

Her ponderings were ultimately immaterial and useless. Hawk would die doing this job and she would be forgotten, another unsung protector of the American way of life.

For now, though, she had a job to do. The FBI would be reaching the warehouse soon enough, allowing her to pass on news of the 'successful' mission to her client. He would wire the money, and then Hawk would have free reign to make sure the corrupt official got what was coming to him.

She checked her watch once again and made the call.

"_Brer Rabbit Industries."_

"I'm calling about the Briar Patch."

"_Product number?"_

"Hawk One Three Seven Niner Alpha Two."

"_Copy that. Report."_

"Target has been neutralized. Initiate transfer of funds."

"_Understood. Will you be needing anything else?"_

"Do you have the Senator's schedule?"

"_Conrad is waiting with your arsenal. He's taken care of everything."_

"Has the Director been informed?"

"_You have a green light. One condition – you have to extract the Senator before you target the cell."_

"That's going to make things more difficult."

"_Nothing you can't handle. You'll be notified as soon as the money is in your account."_

"Roger that. Wish me luck, Brer Rabbit."

"_Keep your eyes open, Briar Patch."_

Hawk disconnected and pulled up the pictures she'd prepared from a few hours before. She attached them to an e-mail, and then sent it off to her client. She thought briefly about sending them to the FBI, but decided against it. She'd already told them they wouldn't hear from her, and the pictures might give them too much information.

Finally, she sent a message to Conrad, telling him to expect company that afternoon. Everything finished and mapped out, Hawk settled back on the couch across from the room in which Eppes was sleeping. She closed her eyes and began going over the plan again in her mind, preparing for every contingency.

oNUMB3RSo

_AN: In the next chapter, we will meet the Senator (anyone know why I chose Kinsey?), find out what Mahavira means, and get a little more back story on Hawk. As always, comments, critiques and suggestions are welcome and appreciated. _


	6. Will She or Won't She?

_AN: This has been re-written five times, and I'm still not sure about it, but nothing I can do about that. We're getting close to the end, I think. Points for figuring out that Senator Kinsey is a nod to Stargate: SG-1._

NUMBERS

_Wednesday, 6:30 p.m._

"Are you nuts?"

Don tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible as he witnessed the exchange between Hawk and the man she had affectionately introduced as Conrad the Idiot. He was apparently her contact in Los Angeles, responsible for supplies and information. Conrad had simply smiled at the nickname, responding with a too-bright smile as he asked the woman if she needed a fire extinguisher. It was clearly an inside joke, and the two were obviously quite good friends.

Obvious, that is, until Hawk had made her current request, which had resulted in Conrad's exclamation of doubt in the woman's sanity.

"More than a little, but that's never bothered you before. Do you have what I need?"

Conrad ignored the question, cocking his head as though trying to get a better read on Hawk's expression. "Does the Director know about this?"

Hawk crossed her arms. "He gave the green light."

"He green lighted the assassination of a Senator?"

Don snapped his head up at that, but Hawk waved him down before he even had a chance to protest. "Not exactly. It's an extraction."

Conrad blinked, and his eyes slid to Don's seat in the corner. There was an odd glint in his eyes, and Don – big, tough G-man who had faced down serial killers and terrorists without flinching – suddenly found it a little difficult to meet the penetrating gaze. He looked away, and when he finally was able to look back, Conrad's attention had settled on Hawk. He seemed to be asking a question, and Hawk was having difficulty answering. She finally settled on a shrug and a tiny shake of her head, which seemed to satisfy Conrad because he nodded sharply and turned to the guns piled on the table behind him.

"I got you an M40A1; I figured you'd like that better than the A3 model. Your Heckler arrived this morning, nice to see you've finally switched out the scope on that. I also have a Longbow because that will work better with the Laps you requested. If you're interested, and I know you are, I got a shipment from the U.K. last week of some very nice models."

Hawk raised an eyebrow. "Super Magnum?"

"Indeed."

"You really know how to treat a girl, Conrad." Hawk gave him a grin and picked up the M40, examining the barrel.

Don still wasn't sure what to think about all of this. A group of assassins who quietly delivered death sentences with the blessing of the U.S. Government? Don believed in his country, had to if he could be any good at his job, but the events of the last two days had called everything into question.

Furthermore, he still wasn't sure if he could really trust Hawk to keep her word. She had said that the Senator wouldn't be killed, but there were a dozen ways to get rid of someone without shooting them outright. And when Don became a liability, what then? He knew far too much about Hawk and her colleagues. Could he really turn a blind eye to their actions? He suspected not, and he knew Hawk had her own questions about him. She would feel little remorse about finishing the job she'd begun less than twenty-four hours before, putting a bullet between his eyes and dumping his body off a pier.

He couldn't trust these people, but at the moment, he had little choice. Hawk had laid out a plan for the next thirty-six hours, and there was more than his life at stake right now. He would just have to watch his back and hope that his team would be there when he needed them.

xXxXx

_Wednesday, 8:45 p.m._

Senator Robert Kinsey was enjoying a quiet evening at home, something in which he was allowed to indulge only infrequently. Congress was in a two-week recess, and Kinsey had taken the opportunity to relax on the family's sprawling estate just outside Santa Clarita on Castaic Lake. His wife had fallen in love with the region, and Kinsey knew better than to argue about something that was ultimately insignificant.

At the moment, Kinsey was alone in the house, besides the staff. He had sent his family on a whirlwind tour of Europe, an early Christmas gift – very early. Stephanie had been disappointed that her husband couldn't join them until Kinsey had informed her that he would be in Antwerp for the last week of their vacation. His wife placated, Kinsey refrained from mentioning any ulterior motive to being out of the country on that particular week. Knowing in advance about the largest and most devastating terrorist attack to date just wasn't good business.

Everything was slotting nicely into place. The Senator had been worried about being discovered, especially after the FBI had stumbled clumsily onto one of his more questionable sideline activities. A quick call and transfer of a substantial amount of money had taken care of that problem, putting off any investigation until the country was too preoccupied to care about yet another corrupt official.

The matter had been concluded earlier that day, in fact. Kinsey had enjoyed the periodic updates on the condition of the troublesome Agent Eppes, and the reports from his contact at the FBI on the chaos that had descended after the abduction of one of their own. He had been skeptical of the professionalism of his contracted killer, especially after her less than courteous attitude during their telephone conversation. What she lacked in manners, however, she more than made up for in ruthlessness, putting Eppes through increasing levels of torture before slitting his throat.

Those pictures had been particularly enjoyable.

Kinsey was already compiling a list of enemies for the enigmatic Hawk to visit in the future. The woman had a style that appealed to the bloodthirsty side of the Senator. He wondered briefly what she was like in bed; Kinsey loved his wife, but she wasn't a fan of his more…interesting kinks. He dismissed the thought just as quickly, though. It wasn't wise to mix business with pleasure, and he doubted the aptly named Hawk would fall prey to his attentions.

"Sophia!" Kinsey called for one of the maids. "Hot tea, white please."

While he waited for his evening beverage, Kinsey sifted through some of the paperwork on his desk. Stephanie hated it when he brought work home, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Fortunately, there wasn't anything pressing – at least, nothing that would matter after the events of the following week.

The door behind him opened, and Kinsey sighed. "Just leave it by the phone. I'll drink it while I speak with my wife."

"You may want to hold off on that."

Kinsey turned sharply. The woman who had entered was not Sophia. She had short dark hair, and the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

She also had a gun pointed at his head.

"How did you get in here?"

The woman laughed lightly. "I'm very good at what I do. That's why you hired me."

"Hawk." Kinsey thought he understood why the deadly assassin was there. "You've already been paid, far more than warranted. You'll get nothing else from me."

"I don't want money, Robert."

Visions of earlier thoughts began running through Kinsey's mind. Perhaps…but no, the gun was still steadily pointing at his head.

"Killing me will get you nowhere."

"Look, Bobby, I'm not usually one to cut off the witty banter, but frankly, we don't have the time." Hawk cocked the pistol. "You're going to tell me everything you know about what the terrorists are planning."

"What terrorists?"

"The ones you gave money to."

"I can't tell you anything if I'm dead."

Hawk smiled, and Kinsey felt a shiver run down his spine. "I'm not going to kill you, Robert. My boss was very specific about that. He did not, however, say that I had to leave you in one piece."

"You're bluffing."

"Do you really want to take that chance?"

xXxXx

Don had only been waiting about forty minutes before Hawk returned, a dark object hoisted over one shoulder. She shoved the body unceremoniously in the trunk before getting in the driver's seat.

"That was fast."

Hawk just grunted moodily as she leafed through a folder.

"Is he dead?"

"I told you I wouldn't kill him."

Don waited another few minutes before speaking again. "Did you get anything?"

Hawk threw the folder at him, then started the car, heading away from the estate. "He kept records of everything. Only took three broken fingers before he caved."

The FBI Agent barely glanced up at the comment, too horrified by what he was reading to start a morality argument. "Is this real?"

"You're the G-man. What do you think?"

It was the nightmare scenario, the perfectly planned attack that sometimes prevented Don from sleeping at night. "How is this possible?"

"I suspect the Senator had a hand in planning. He probably got all of them jobs in the various buildings, maintenance workers or something innocuous."

"How many will die?"

"Do you know the statistics on Ricin?"

"Just that it's bad."

"Five hundred micrograms – the size of a grain of salt – will kill if injected or inhaled. Now put a thousand times that in the air ducts of twenty of Los Angeles' most prominent buildings. Fifty percent will die within two days, primarily of shock and organ failure, and half again in the following week from complications in treatment. The ones that survive will have permanently damaged organs, diminished brain activity, diminished respiratory function…"

"There's a vaccine."

"Not enough. An attack like this will cause widespread panic, mass migration away from the infected area. Ricin isn't contagious, but people won't know that. There's no telling what would happen if this attack were carried out."

"How do we stop it?"

Hawk stilled, and pulled over. She turned fully to face Don, her features frozen into a scowl. "There is no _we_."

"I can't just ignore this, and I don't think you can, either. Did you even read this?" Don waved the folder at her. "They Ricin hasn't been deployed, yet. We know which buildings, but even better than that, we know where the terrorists are manufacturing the stuff! We can stop them."

"Two people. Taking out a dozen bad guys in the middle of a Ricin warehouse."

"Five."

Hawk stopped laughing. "Five what?"

"Five people. Better yet, twenty-five. In haz-mat gear."

"You want to bring in the FBI." Hawk gripped the steering wheel tightly, facing forward again. Don could almost hear her teeth grinding.

"Yes."

Hawk started the car again, and without answering, pulled onto the darkened road. She was silent all the way back to Conrad's hideout, and Don didn't attempt to make further conversation. He was worried that he'd stepped over that invisible line that seemed to constantly change. He honestly believed that Hawk didn't really want to kill him, but he knew that if she were ordered to, she wouldn't hesitate.

The terrorist plot had only complicated matters, and now that Don understood the potential disaster, he was impatient to take care of the problem. The only way the FBI was going to learn about the attack in time to stop it was if Don himself told them. He was under no illusions that Hawk felt a duty to the country she professed to serve. In his experience, hired guns cared about little except the paycheck.

They pulled into the garage around 11, and Hawk unloaded Kinsey, dumping him in the spare bedroom and placing Conrad as guard. Then she grabbed Don's arm and pushed him into the kitchen, where she pulled out her gun and forced the man to his knees.

Don stared into the barrel of the gun for what he knew was the final time. "This is how it was always going to end, isn't it?"

Hawk smiled sadly. "Just a question of time. If you hadn't had access to the accounts, you would have died at the twelve hour mark. If the order had come down to kill the Senator, you would have been framed, your body burned beyond recognition in a car accident as you raced away from the scene. You were incredibly helpful, but it came at a price. You know too much about us, now."

Don contemplated rushing the woman to get the gun, but then Conrad appeared in the doorway, his gun trained on Don as well. He wouldn't be able to take out both of them before his body was riddled with bullets. He relaxed, accepting what was about to happen. "Promise me you'll stop the terrorists. I don't care how you do it – anonymous tip, whatever, just promise they won't succeed."

Hawk nodded once, and then raised her arm. A deafening crash assaulted Don's ears, and as he fell into the dark, he sent a silent apology to his family for leaving.

xXxXx

_Thursday, 7:15 a.m._

"I'm sorry, Agent Reeves, but he wouldn't wait any longer."

Megan rubbed at tired eyes, trying to focus on the curly-haired figure seated in the war room. "It's all right, Malcolm. We were going to get an early start anyway." She looked toward the elevator when it _ding_ed, watching as David and Colby exited. She waved them over, and then focused back on Charlie behind the glass.

"What's up, Megan? New lead?" Colby followed her gaze. "Why is Charlie back here?"

"He kept pestering the AIC at the hotel last night, said he had to show us something. Malcolm wouldn't let him budge until he got some sleep." Megan smiled slightly. "I think it was for our benefit as well. Let's see what he's got, shall we?"

Charlie bounced up from his chair as soon as they entered. "Don is alive."

His matter-of-fact tone gave Megan pause before she sat. "We've been operating under that assumption, Charlie, and we're still looking for him."

"I can see it in everyone's faces, Megan, you're expecting to find a body, not Don alive. I thought the same thing after yesterday morning, but I'm telling you, he's alive."

David leaned forward. "Why the sudden epiphany?"

Charlie seemed to hesitate before plunging ahead. "I got another e-mail last night."

"From the kidnapper?" Megan asked sharply. "You should have told us then!"

"That's what I told Maxwell or whatever his name is."

"What did it say?"

"That if I was smart, I would be able to figure out what was going on from one word – Mahavira." Charlie grinned widely, but it diminished somewhat as he got three blank stares.

"What the hell is a mahavira?" Colby asked.

"Not what, who. I told you last night, the math has been bothering me since the beginning of this."

"Something in your equation?"

"Not mine – hers."

"The kidnapper?"

Charlie was warming up to his subject, going into full Professor mode. "You remember the last thing Don said to me in his message on the answering machine? 'A number divided by zero is always zero.'"

"That was at the scene!"

"Exactly. Now at the time, I figured Don was trying to explain things on a level I'd understand – except maths aren't his strong suit, and the message was scripted. So then I thought that the kidnapper was just really stupid."

"Why?"

"Because a number divided by zero _isn't_ zero. It isn't anything, really. You can't multiply a number by zero, and you definitely can't divide a number by zero. Mathematicians have been trying to solve this for thousands of years."

"So this Mahavira guy solved it?"

"Mahavira was a Jainin mathematician during the ninth century. He wrote the _Ganit Saar Sangraha_, brilliant man when it came to square roots of negative numbers, but that's not the important part. In the _Sangraha_, Mahavira tried to correct the work of Brahmagupta in his treatise on zero division."

Megan looked lost. "Charlie, get to the point, please."

"Mahavira said that a number _remains unchanged _when divided by zero."

"So you're saying…"

"Colby, you thought the message meant that Don was gone, zero, nothing – but it was really a message. Don is okay, _unchanged_."

The room was silent for a moment as everyone absorbed the new information. There was a little more hope on everyone's faces, but Megan knew she had to be realistic. "Charlie, you didn't work this out until you got that e-mail from the kidnapper. I hate to say it, but this could just be her way of trying to throw us off the search."

Charlie collapsed in his chair, suddenly feeling the lack of sleep from the night before. "Can't we just, I don't know, look over everything again? Don would have left a message for us if he could, and I'm not giving up on him."

Megan could never resist Charlie's plaintive expression, and she could feel her doubts crumbling. "All right. We'll go through everything again, one piece at a time."

"Maybe we don't have to," Colby said thoughtfully. "Charlie, what was the last thing Don said to you on the phone?"

"Uh, he made me promise not to get lost in numbers again. I swear, Colby, that's not what this is."

"No, I know. Megan, what did the woman tell you when she called? She said Don had a message for Charlie."

"To remember his promise about the numbers, and that you would look after him."

Colby smiled. "Exactly. Why me? Why not Allan or one of you guys? You've known Charlie longer, and I'm not exactly on the top of Don's list of people he trusts right now."

"That's not true," Charlie cut in. "But I think I know where you're going. What's the connection between Colby and numbers?"

"The Janus list."

"Every number that man gave us stood for something else. It was a message in the numbers."

"Don gave you a series of numbers in your conversation. What were they?" Megan flipped through the file to the transcript of the phone call. "Okay, here they are. Locker 342, and then two times, 10:00 and 10:30. That doesn't give us much."

"There are more," David said quietly. "Charlie thinks the woman who took Don is sending us a message, right? She gave us a set of her own numbers."

Megan gasped. "The ransom demand!"

David nodded. "You said it yourself, it didn't make any sense. But it did give us numbers. 541,785 exactly."

Charlie stood, uncapping a marker as he walked to the window. "Okay, then in order, we have 54178534210001030. I need to grid these."

"Maybe not." Megan tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Charlie, erase the times at the end. 541-785-342," she repeated, separating them. "I know that sequence. We all do. The message isn't in the numbers, it _is_ the numbers." She ran to the door. "Cooper, get in here." They waited for the computer tech, who looked completely bewildered. "What was accessed yesterday while we were at the café?"

Cooper frowned slightly. "It was a case file."

"Which one?"

"That one," he said, pointing at the window. "541-785-342."

"Thanks, Cooper, you can go now." Megan smiled triumphantly. "Don't you see? It's our case, the one we were working on before all of this started."

David swore. "So all of this, Don's kidnapping, us running around – this is all about that case?"

"Which we haven't been working on because we've been too distracted," Colby said incredulously. "Don said we were close to a breakthrough. He was going to – holy…he was going to call in Charlie."

Charlie looked up, surprised. "What case?"

Megan took over. "We stumbled onto a corruption ring at the state level – politicians being bought off, that sort of thing. We had a suspect, but we couldn't tie him to the bank account we found."

"Who's the suspect?"

"Senator Robert Kinsey."

NUMBERS

_AN: As always, reviews, comments, constructive criticisms are appreciated._


	7. Double to the Chest, One to the Head

_Thursday, 9:30 a.m._

"What do you mean, 'he's not here'?"

"The Senator left last night to join his family in Antwerp."

"His office said he wasn't leaving until tomorrow."

"The Senator decided to leave early after speaking with his wife yesterday."

Megan was more than a little frustrated with the conversation going around in circles. A cursory search of the house had revealed that the Senator really wasn't there, but none of the staff were cooperating.

"The Senator isn't listed on any flight manifests to Antwerp, and phone records show that he didn't make or receive any calls to or from his wife. Do you want to try this again?"

The steward barely blinked at the information. "All I can tell you is the information that was given to the staff."

"By whom?"

"I didn't ask the Lady's name."

"Lady?"

"Yes."

Either the steward was incredibly stupid, or he just didn't realize that Megan was about two seconds away from wrapping her hands around his neck. "Tell me what you know, or get arrested for impeding a federal investigation."

"The Lady said the same thing." The steward heaved a great sigh. "The Senator was…escorted…off the premises last night by a young woman. I was told to tell anyone who asked that he had left early for Antwerp."

"And you didn't report this?"

The steward raised an eyebrow. "She had all the proper credentials. It's not my fault if you government types can't seem to coordinate things."

"Which agency?"

"FBI."

Megan had stopped being surprised by anything two days before when she'd received the first phone call from Don. She thanked the insufferable twat, politely requested he accompany them to headquarters for further questioning and a word with a sketch artist, and then entered the house again where she found David and Colby.

"There's nothing here. The rest of the staff say they didn't see anything."

"Well, according to the steward, our mystery woman was here, and she had a badge."

David scowled. "Who?"

"One of us."

"Had to be a fake, they're easy enough to get."

"She's playing with us."

"I agree," Megan said. "She just took the best link we have for finding Don."

"We don't even know how Kinsey was involved, if this wasn't some wild goose chase."

Colby looked ready to punch something. "We've been two steps behind from the start."

"So what do we do now?"

Megan's answer was cut off as her phone started to ring. She checked the number and then answered, confused. "Charlie? Did you find something already?" Her eyes widened as she listened to the maths genius, and then grinned widely at her colleagues as she snapped the phone shut. "Time to go."

xXxXx

_Thursday, 9:30 a.m._

Charlie could have sworn that he'd only been working for a few minutes, but when the shrill tone of his phone began to shriek at him, he was surprised to discover that more than an hour had passed. He had been writing a program to trace Senator Kinsey's financial transactions, a difficult task considering the Senator did a great deal of business through less than legal means. It was going to take some time to track down where all of the Senator's money had gone, but Charlie was confident that he could find the majority of it.

He was reminded of how he'd been distracted when his phone began to ring again. He didn't want to stop working, but he thought it might be Megan with an update, so he answered, though he continued to type.

"Megan?"

"_Sorry to disappoint, Charlie."_

The professor sat up, ceasing his typing. He recognized that voice. "Who is this?"

"_I'm quite sure you already know, Charlie._

"Where is Don?"

"_We'll get to that in a minute, Charlie. There are a few things we need to discuss first."_

"Such as?"

"_I need to apologize to you and your father."_

"You – what?"

"_I know all too well how difficult this has been for you and Alan. If I had been able to keep you out of all this, I would have."_

"You sound like my brother."

"_He sees all the worst the world has to offer. I don't blame him for trying to protect you."_

Charlie didn't need to be a genius to know that kidnappers didn't usually call the family to apologize and offer platitudes. Frankly, he didn't have time for it. "Is my brother alive?"

"_Yes."_

"Tell me where he is."

"_Protection goes both ways, Charlie. You and your father are Don's conduit to the better side of life. I've seen what this life can do to people. Don deserves better."_

How do you respond to something like that? Charlie had had similar discussions with his father countless times, but this was almost surreal.

The woman seemed to sense his struggle, because he heard her softly sigh. _"It will be okay, Charlie. Your brother is in his apartment downtown. Remember what I said."_

The phone disconnected, but Charlie just sat there for a minute, trying to piece together what had just happened. Finally, a voice in the back of his mind began chanting _call megan call megan call megan_, and it eventually brought him out of his reverie long enough to recall the agent's number.

"_Charlie? Did you find something already?"_

"You could say that."

xXxXx

_Date Unknown, Time Unknown_

_The sky was a deep blue, unmarred by even a wisp of cloud. The sun beat down, the heat soaking into his skin as he lay on a bed of soft hay. He lazily traced the flight of a hawk as it soared above him. He was warm and content, but something was wrong. _

"_You're such a good boy, Donnie."_

_Don sat up, turning so he faced his mother. He didn't question her appearance. "Did you see the hawk?"_

_His mother played with the hem of her blue dress. "You have to let it go." She pointed behind him._

"_What?" Don turned to see the hawk in the cage. It let out a piercing cry, and Don knew he had to set it free, but his legs wouldn't work. _

"_Are you going to play?"_

_Don blinked. He was standing in a dugout, holding a baseball bat. He turned to face the woman who had spoken. She was cleaning a gun, her short black hair cropped around her face. She was wearing a jersey with 'Hawks' emblazoned across the chest. "You should use this," she said as she handed him the gun. Don handed her the bat, and hefted the rifle to his shoulder. He strode out to home plate, eyeing the pitcher – an older man with silver hair. _

"_It's about time you got here. I thought we were gonna have to call the game."_

_Don got into his batter's stance, holding the rifle as he would a bat. The pitch came slowly, and Don swung with all his might. It connected with a mighty CRACK, and rain started to fall as Don threw down the rifle and began to run. _

_The baseball diamond melted away, replaced by a darkened alley. _

"_Can you hear me?"_

_Don blinked. A young man stood before him, facing a chalkboard. "I'm very smart," the man told him before he disappeared. Far away, a siren began to wail, and Don was running, trying to find the man, fleeing from the noise, but his legs weren't working, and he was running too slowly. He wouldn't reach it in time, couldn't stop them, cried out in frustration and anger, and the noise just kept getting closer, chasing him down darkened paths. It was right next to him –_

"Don! Just relax, you're okay."

"I heard…noise."

"There was a car accident. They're working on one of the victims in the next room."

Don's eyes flew open. He knew that voice, had heard it hundreds of times before. "Dad?"

"It's me, Donnie. Are you awake now?"

Don sat up, taking in his surroundings. He was in the hospital, in one of the rooms just off the emergency unit. "What happened?"

Alan sat forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "How much do you remember?"

Images flashed through Don's mind. He remembered pretty much everything – the kidnapping, the deal, Conrad the Idiot, going to the Senator's house, coming back – "She was going to kill me."

"We thought she had after yesterday."

Don felt bad about the flicker of pain he caught on his father's features, but he couldn't deal with it at the moment. "No, last night, after we got back from Kinsey's." And then he caught up with the rest of the story. "Shit. Where's Megan?"

Alan tried to calm his son. "Don, you need to rest. You have a mild concussion, it's a miracle you're not hurt more."

Ricin waits for no man, not even worried fathers who have just been reunited with their sons. "Dad, I really don't have time to rest right now. Where is Megan?"

"I'm here." Megan cast a questioning glance in Alan's direction, but he just shrugged. "Don, we need to know what happened, but that can wait until you're feeling better."

"I'm feeling fine, Megan." Don struggled to keep calm. "I will tell you all what happened later, but right now, we have a problem of the national security variety. I need a map."

It was clear to Don that he wasn't going to be taken seriously. They probably thought he was delusional, a remnant of the concussion. Damn Hawk, couldn't she have just drugged him instead of the song and dance and the bashing in of his head?

Don ripped out the IV in his hand and disconnected the leads. He pushed his father away from the side of the bed and stood unsteadily, gripping the rail. He put on his best I'm-an-FBI-Agent-and-I-mean-business scowl, and directed it at Megan, who eyed him uneasily. "Map. Car. Team. Now," he growled. Then he looked down. "And pants. Pants would be nice."

xXxXx

_Thursday, 4:30 p.m._

It had taken another hour to convince his team that they really did have a big problem on their hands, but once the situation had been made clear, they were setting up their plan of attack. Then it had taken an hour to convince his father and brother that he was okay, and that he was fully capable of joining his team on their assault on the terrorist base. In the end, he had compromised, promising to stay with the vehicles while the haz mat assault team went in.

In all honesty, Don knew his team could have handled things without him, but Don had another reason for wanting to go along. There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that his team might run into Hawk – completely irrational and unsupported, but the feeling remained, and Don wanted to be there to…what? Stop them from arresting her? He wasn't sure what he wanted.

So there he was, staring down at the small farmhouse that had been converted to Ricin production by a small group of terrorists. A team was converging on the house, specially equipped to deal with biological threats and armed with Berettas. From what Don could see, though, he wasn't sure they would be needed.

"Colby, I'm not seeing any movement aside from our guys down there."

Colby had been assigned the task of making sure Don didn't fall flat on his face – not that anyone had told Don that, but he knew how his team worked, and Colby was close enough to offer covert assistance. Don didn't really care, because it was another set of eyes to confirm what he was dreading.

"Yeah. You think they already left?"

Don shivered. He hoped they weren't too late. "They weren't supposed to move until next week. Let's hope they're just taking a break from guard duty." He turned his attention back to the radios.

"_Approaching southwest corner."_

"_Copy that, ready to breach on your mark."_

"_Hold. I've got a body."_

"_Same here."_

"_There are two along the north wall."_

"_I'm not detecting any movement within the house."_

"_Okay, we're going in. Three, two, one, mark!"_

"_Jesus H. Christ!"_

"_Cut the comments. One is clear."_

"_Two is clear."_

"_Three is clear."_

"_Four is definitely clear."_

"_How many bodies?"_

"_With the four outside? Twelve total. I've never seen anything like it."_

Don grabbed the radio. "This is Eppes. What's going on?"

"_They were definitely cooking Ricin, Agent Eppes, but I don't think they'll be distributing it anytime soon. They're all dead."_

"What? Accidental?"

"_The Ricin is completely contained, they knew what they were doing. No, sir, it looks like they've all been shot. Every single one, a double tap to the chest and a hole in their forehead."_

Don sat back, shaking his head. Colby raised an eyebrow.

"You're not surprised."

"She did promise."

Colby frowned. "Maybe it's time you told us what happened."

xXxXx

_Thursday, 7:45 p.m._

"The last I saw her, she and her friend had their guns in my face. I made her promise that she would warn someone about the Ricin attack, and then she must have hit me, because the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital with a headache."

"Why did you believe her promise?"

"Sir?"

The Director leaned forward in his chair. "This woman, Hawk, held you at gunpoint for nearly twenty-four hours. Yet you trusted her with a matter of national security."

Don had been struggling with that himself. "I don't know why. I guess…I guess I started to believe her toward the end."

The Director nodded and leaned back again. "You've been through a very trying ordeal, Agent Eppes, and I personally believe you upheld the very finest standards of the FBI." He paused, steepling his fingers. "Now forget it."

"Sir?" Don was sure he had heard wrong.

"You will tell your team and your family that the events of the past two days are classified. You will not tell them anything about the organization that employs Ms. Hawk, and you will certainly not tell them about Ms. Hawk. The file will be archived, and the case closed."

Don was by no means an idiot, and he was pretty sure he knew what was going on, but he had to ask. "She was telling the truth. You're protecting them."

The Director didn't answer him directly. Instead, he pulled a file from his side drawer and slid it toward Don. "Last night, the body of Armand Grayson was recovered in a field just outside Barstow."

"Grayson? Number three on our most wanted list?"

"He was on his way to a liaison with the cell you just put out of commission. You probably recognize the method of execution."

Don stared at the picture in the file. Two to the chest, one to the head.

"You were a facilitator, nothing more," the Director said. "I think you'll agree that we need to keep people like her on our side."

"I don't know if I can just forget this."

"That's the way things have to be. Is this really the hill you want to die on?"

NUMBERS

_AN: One more to go, I think. This monster has been difficult to tie up. Before you ask, yes, the FBI had agents at Don's apartment. What can I say? Hawk is just that good._


	8. Epilogue

AN: And so it ends

_AN: And so it ends. My sincerest apologies for not posting this sooner. I thought I had, and then I realized I hadn't, and then life went crazy. But my baby is done now. At some point in the future, I'd like to return to this universe, but I think I'm going to return to sci-fi for my next fic. You have all been wonderful with your reviews and encouragement. Shalom._

NUMB3RS

"…and they finished checking all of the buildings, no evidence that any of the bad guys had time to plant anything. But all of them were listed as employees of the various companies – they had all gone through background checks and had clear records. We're working on a way to revamp the system."

Megan looked to Don as she finished. She was worried about her boss, though she knew he would just tell her he was fine if she asked about it. Physically, he _was _fine. Of the damage the team had seen in the pictures, only a fraction was real. One more question she wanted to ask, and one she knew he couldn't answer.

After the clean-up at the terrorists base, the team had returned to headquarters, all eager to finally find out what had happened. Before they could even take a breath to ask a question, though, the Director had whisked Don up to his office. When he'd returned, he looked ten times older.

"_I spent the better part of the last two days undercover in a sanctioned operation to uncover the whereabouts of the terrorists. Any information beyond that is classified. I know you all have questions, but for the time being, I can't answer them."_

It was a stunning pronouncement, and Megan could see that Don didn't agree with it. _For the time being_…Don was keeping a secret for someone – probably a lot of someones – but Megan knew that there might come a day when that would change.

Don's voice brought her ruminations to an end. "That's good work. Let me know what you come up with."

"I'll get started right away."

Her boss held up a hand to stop her. "Leave it. You've got a party to get ready for."

xXxXx

Don had never been a superstitious man, but even he had to admit to more than a little apprehension as he made his way through the nearly empty parking garage to his SUV. Megan, Colby, David, his father, and Charlie had all offered him a ride home at various times during the day, most not even bothering to hide their concern. He had declined politely in each case. While he might have wanted company, he couldn't leave this hanging over his head. Besides, just because he'd been kidnapped once from FBI headquarters didn't mean it would happen again.

"You didn't really think I was going to kill you."

Don whirled, hand reaching automatically to the gun at his hip. He relaxed slightly when he recognized the figure standing in the shadows, but still rested his hand on the holster. "You were pretty convincing."

Hawk ducked out from behind a column. "Yeah, sorry about that. You should feel honored – there was a big debate about what to do with you. You've got some powerful friends."

He allowed himself a moment to examine her features before he answered. She looked worn and haggard, and she had a sling over her left arm. Despite that, though, the spark was still in her eyes, and he knew that if even attempted to draw his weapon, she'd have hers out before his cleared leather.

Hawk waited patiently, smiling ruefully when his gaze rested on her arm. "I'm getting old. One of the bastards winged me before I could take him out."

"Why did you do it?"

She had obviously been expecting the question. "I made a promise."

Except that didn't make any sense. "You knew I'd sound the alarm as soon as I was able."

"I couldn't take that chance. We didn't know when they would make their move, especially since Grayson wasn't going to show." She looked down. "The others agree with you."

The others. That mysterious organization that he wasn't supposed to know anything about. "Why?"

She grimaced. "It's a little more proof of our existence than they usually like to leave."

Don could understand that. He'd seen more than one question in the eyes of his team. There were just too many loose ends, and he was smack dab in the middle. "You should have killed me."

If that surprised Hawk, she didn't let on. If anything, it seemed to anger her. "That wouldn't have solved anything."

"It would have solved everything. No one knew the location of the base. You could have cleaned it without anyone being the wiser. I would have just disappeared, another unsolved murder. That's what they wanted, isn't it?"

"I couldn't let that happen again."

The statement hung between them. Hawk obviously regretted saying something so revealing, but Don had been expecting it. "I know what happened after you got back."

Hawk brought her head up, eyes widened in shock.

"You told me I had enough to find out who you were. Private Jennifer Sommers died from wounds sustained while guarding relief workers in 1993. She left behind a mother and father, two sisters and a brother."

"And Hawk was born."

Don took a step forward. "They destroyed your life. Why are you still working for them?"

"I believe in what they do."

She sounded sincere. Don didn't want to believe her, not after everything she had done for him, but the look on her face was one of acceptance. He shook his head, face inscrutable as he turned to walk away from her.

"Don."

He stopped, but didn't look at her.

"There will come a day when my brethren and I will have outlived our usefulness. Can I trust you to be there when it ends?"

This time he did turn, his eyes catching hers, searching their depths for some secret wisdom of how to answer that. For the first time, he understood that she feared her position just as much as he did. If left unchecked, it was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode and take as many down with it as possible. Don would do whatever possible to keep that from happening.

"I'll be there. I promise."

And then she was gone, melting back into shadows. Don doubted that he would ever see her again.

He shook his head again, this time smiling slightly. It was no use dwelling on all of this. His team were waiting at his brother's house, the party that Don had asked Alan for help with finally coming to fruition.

As he drove away, though, he couldn't help but look back.

_El Fin._


End file.
